Reed — POV
The forest had teeth.
I could feel it before I even saw them — the witches. They moved like shadows that belonged to the wind itself, gliding over roots, snapping twigs under invisible feet. Their chants twisted through the night like smoke curling around my head. I stayed crouched behind a hollowed stump, eyes narrowing as their pale faces emerged between trees. Each face was carved with malice, eyes glowing with that sickly green fire only witches possessed.
"They shouldn't be here," one hissed, stepping forward. Her robes clung to her like cobwebs, dragging in the dirt. "The girl is ours!"
I smiled under my hood. I wasn't just here to survive. I was here to win.
What they didn't know — what none of them could sense — was my immunity. Every spell, hex, and curse that could melt flesh or fracture bone ricocheted uselessly off me. Magic was a blade aimed at everyone else, but against me? It was a child's toy.
